


(sad singers) They Just Play Tragic

by dls



Category: The Witcher (TV)
Genre: Angst, Break Up, Episode: s01e06 Rare Species, Falling In Love, Falling Out of Love, M/M, Pining, Post-Episode: S01E06 Rare Species
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-22
Updated: 2020-02-22
Packaged: 2021-02-27 21:54:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,135
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22852819
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dls/pseuds/dls
Summary: For all Geralt berates Jaskier for his human weaknesses, he doesn’t treat Jaskier like something fragile and instead uses him like something disposable.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 75
Kudos: 487
Collections: Interesting Character and/or Interesting Relationship Development





	(sad singers) They Just Play Tragic

**Author's Note:**

> I’m not saying it’s a pattern but this is the second time that I immediately start writing angst as soon as I post a chapter of [Give Me Nothing, Give Me You](https://archiveofourown.org/works/22330357). Hm.
> 
> Beta-ed by [Arboreal](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arboreal/pseuds/Arboreal).
> 
> References/Quotes:   
>  Title from "Lover I Don't Have to Love" by Bright Eyes.   
>  _The Witcher (S01E06)_.

Jaskier falls in love because Geralt is, underneath his hard and cold Witcher exterior, a man. 

A man who is kind when he answers questions from a curious child, brave when he charges at monsters in defense of others, and generous when he gives back half or all of his payment from those who cannot afford it. 

It makes perfect sense.

*

Of course, Geralt’s supernaturally good looks play a part. Jaskier is shallow and has no trouble admitting it. He has met plenty of beautiful people in his life, at court and on the road, but none compare to Geralt. 

Silver hair and golden eyes, a treasure Jaskier wants to sing praises of and to hoard away for himself. 

Broad shoulders and strong arms, a feast Jaskier wants to devour and savor. 

Slim hips and thick thighs, an altar Jaskier wants to worship at and defile in every way possible. 

It would be easy, so easy, if the attraction started and stopped there.

Too bad Jaskier has a habit of making things difficult for himself. 

*

They fall into bed at an unremarkable tavern in a town that Jaskier can’t remember the name of. What Jaskier does remember, though, is Geralt’s face when they woke entwined together the next morning. Bare and sticky and pleasantly sore. 

Geralt looked surprised to find him still there but neither pleased nor displeased by the fact. A neutral kind of acknowledgement that doesn’t thrill like obvious joy and cuts deeper than outright distaste. 

"Good morning." Jaskier said, suddenly self-conscious and uncertain.

"Hm." Then Geralt was off in search of his clothes. His medallion catches the morning light and glints like the north star.

Jaskier's gaze trails after it with the same desperation of a lost traveler seeking a way home.

*

On their way out of the village, they are stopped by the blacksmith and his three friends, who think the mayor shouldn't have paid the Witcher such a high reward and the coin is better spent on their families.

Geralt grunts and dispatches them with ease and the flat of his blade, sparing the men's lives not because they deserve it but because he hates to leave wives widowed and children fatherless.

The act of mercy makes Jaskier's foolish heart skip a beat then speed to catch up, the perfect tempo for the new melody he has in mind.

*

There are moments, before sleep and upon waking, warm and sated and content, where Jaskier almost confesses his feelings. 

Geralt always tenses, as though he can read Jaskier’s mind or, more likely, sense a threat to the status quo. A delicate balance, precarious and precious, teetering between _what if_ and _if only_ on the edge of _almost._

Jaskier opens his mouth and rambles about nothing.

*

Being a traveling bard builds resilience, it would be impossible to keep going amidst the criticism and food items thrown at him without it. 

So, in a way, Jaskier thinks he’s extremely well-suited to be in love with Geralt. Every time his heart shatters, he picks up the jagged fragments, dusts them off and glues them back together. Then he puts it back on his sleeve, shows it to Geralt the way he does a new ballad that earns no more than a scoff, and waits for it to fall to pieces at Geralt's feet again.

A constant to keep time by.

*

Weeks, months, and years go by. 

Kikimoras, ghouls, and, sometimes, men die. 

Families, children, and, sometimes, monsters live. 

Jaskier kisses Geralt against brick walls of back alleys and Geralt pulls Jaskier down on forest floors under the open skies. 

Nothing changes, for better or for worse. 

He tells himself that it is good and it is enough. 

*

It isn’t.

But he has never been limited by facts. Truth can always be embellished and edited. After all, respect doesn’t make history.

*

Jaskier prefers to leave his doublets open, having never liked the feel of the stiff collar constricting his throat. And he rather enjoys showing off the teeth marks darkening his skin, a claim that survived the dark of the night and made it to the light of day.

Something that's his to keep, at least until they fade.

*

Geralt claims the Law of Surprise, gains a child, loses sleep, and tumbles into bed with a sorceress. 

There's no magic tumor blocking his airway but he chokes all the same when he catches sight of Geralt and Yennefer.

Jaskier walks away, blood on his shirt and copper on his tongue, knowing if he stayed, he would break beyond repair.

*

It hurts. 

His tears stain the parchment when he tries to compose, his hands shake when he plucks at his lute and his throat closes up when he tries to sing about the White Wolf. 

So he doesn’t. 

*

They meet up again at another unremarkable tavern, then another and another. 

They go on hunts, into the woods and by the water and in abandoned castles. 

Something changes along the way, though, and Jaskier doesn’t realize it was happening, had happened, until he finds Geralt at the bar. 

Surprised, but neither pleased nor displeased by the fact. 

That night, when Geralt reaches for him, Jaskier goes as he always does. 

But afterward, he doesn’t feel the need to hide his secret with aimless chatter. He bids Geralt good night and goes to sleep. 

*

The next day, Geralt takes a contract and Jaskier starts composing a song about love unrequited and relinquished. 

_I’m weak, love, and I am wanting._

His fingers dance across the strings with a lightness he hasn’t felt in a long, long while. 

It’s an accomplishment and a triumph. Like surviving the worst of the storm and picking his way through the wreckage to find what he can salvage. 

_Gorgeous garrotter, jury and judge._

*

Jaskier asks Geralt to go to the coast and doesn’t know if he’s disappointed or relieved when Geralt ignores the request. 

*

“If life could give me one blessing, it would be to take you off my hands!” Geralt snarls, the sculpted lines of his face contort and twist in his rage, fierce and beautiful.

Yet, Jaskier notes, almost ugly, too.

Geralt's hair still shines like the moon and his eyes burn like the sun but he no longer feels that celestial draw and is outside of Geralt’s orbit, spinning free.

Jaskier doesn’t beg to stay and descends the mountain with an answer to his earlier question. 

It’s relief. 

*

Jaskier falls out of love because Geralt is, underneath his hard and cold Witcher exterior, a man. 

A man who is cruel when he is in pain and wants Jaskier to hurt with him, cowardly when he disengages from any battle he can’t win with a sword, and greedy when he takes and takes and takes, all for granted. 

It makes perfect sense.

**Author's Note:**

> [dls-ao3.tumblr.com](https://dls-ao3.tumblr.com/)


End file.
